Okay, now start by getting your mind out of the gutter because these massage stories aren’t the type with a happy ending. But I am hoping they will make you squeal with laughter as I recall the good, the terrible or downright awkward massage situations I have managed to get myself into all over the world. I’m no expert but I think I know a thing or two, as a physiotherapist, where massages are concerned.
Now I have to admit, recounting these stories has a way of making me seem a woman of awfully low intelligence. However, I promise that it has less to do with my blonde stature and more to do with my deep desire to have adventures and fully immerse myself in a culture. Hence I often find that my reckless abandon to experience it all, results in these ‘interesting’ situations.
Cordoba, Spain (2005).
Imagine being in the middle of a hot European summer. Add in 4 days straight of hitting the sites early and being on your feet all day. My muscles ached, I was hot and bothered and I was done sightseeing for the day. As a traveller in the early 2000’s did, I hauled out my trusty Lonely Planet guide for Andalucia and looked up things to do in Cordoba that didn’t involve running around.
This was when I came across the suggested Arab Baths with massage, newly renovated and a great way to immerse yourself in history…quite literally.
It was quite beautiful inside with ornate mosaics and a dull echo if you spoke too loudly. Light filtered in from outside through a network of beautifully placed holes in the bricks. We were led from a hot bath, then on to a medium one, and lastly to a cold bath. Baths, as in shared pools with other guests.
The ratio of massage therapist to awaiting clients was not in our favour and so one kept soaking and soaking whilst awaiting your number to be called. By the 5th repetition of hot to cold water, a pleasant experience began to feel like sensory deprivation.
Finally my number came up but soaking like a teabag has a way of turning a 20 something year old into a granny with prunes for fingers and toes. A bit of oil with gentle massage was not going to win me over.
Essaouira, Morocco (2006).
Time has a way of erasing bad memories and so when I visited Morocco a year later, I was convinced by a fellow traveller to try out a local hammam. And I’m not kidding when I say a LOCAL hammam.
In all her wisdom, my friend decided that the price at the fancy Spa Hammam was not a local price and that we were being ripped off. What we should do is ask a local. Which we did via wild gesticulation and pointing to words. First mistake. Believing that we had made ourselves understood. Second mistake.
Following her into the local Hammam. Third mistake.
This was the local bath house. The actual place where local ladies came together to bath and be in an overwhelmingly hot room together in their undies. Not a spa. Not fancy. A concrete walled room with a wooden bench, a bucket with hot water and a ladle to pour the water over yourself. It is basically what I imagine a prison bathroom to be like.
We were the only two in bikinis and there were A LOT of confused faces around. Including mine.
I tried to settle in and see it as a cultural experience but when an old lady came over to try scrub me (the massage I was expecting), I decided not to be polite and high-tailed it out of there rather embarrassed and scarred for life. As unique and local as it gets.
Thailand (2006)
When your frame of reference is swedish and sports massages, your first traditional Thai massage may feel like a let down. However, if you are body shy, this is the massage for you as you remain fully clothed during the entire exercise.
It is odd to get pressed and then hear a little clap in between, almost in a rhythm. It feels like the therapist dances from spot to spot pressing her weight through each and releasing just before it feels like your bladder might pop. The most awkward thing to me is when the massage therapist stands on you to use her feet to work the pressure points. Thank heavens she was a small human being.
I was pulled back by my very flexible arms into a swan-like pose. Not at all elegant, it felt like my shoulders were going to pop out and my back folded the wrong way. My recommendation, if communication is possible (language barriers are common), is to warn the therapist of any back and shoulder problems.
Cusco, Peru (2012)
When you arrive in Cusco, one of the first things you will be offered is a pamphlet for a massage with all sorts of claims about it being the best. I laughed it off as it was before doing the Inca Trail. Anyone who has ever done the Inca Trail knows that there are stairs, hundreds of thousands of roughly hewn stairs that you navigate on the path to Machu Picchu. Burning quads and calves is commonplace and on return to Cusco the stiff muscles set in. Walking like a robot and avoiding more stairs are almost a badge of honour.
It is at this point that those pamphlets begin to look attractive and I fell for it. This time it was me dragging my friend to join me. We were led up a narrow staircase – oh no, what were they thinking. On the first floor, we entered a tiny room with massage beds closely packed together. That made me nervous, what had I got myself into, again. Fortunately each had a curtain around so at least some privacy.
To my delight, in walks the shortest little Peruvian lady and is introduced as my massage therapist. I lay down, wondering how she was going to manage and was quickly answered when she climbed onto my massage bed for some height and leverage. Besides that being a bit odd, it is by far, the best massage I have ever had.
The climb back down the stairs at the end, was not so much fun.
Vietnam (2015)
Two experiences come to mind when I think back to my time in Vietnam. One was in Hanoi where we had heard that there was a spa that supported the visually impaired. Sadly my experience at Midori Spa was not great and I think that the visually impaired therapists were simply used as a marketing tool. I like to support initiatives that address a social need such as employment for people with a disability but then the service provided should still be of quality. I would go as far as saying these therapists were exploited for their disability and not supported in their ability.
It was one place where I could not wait to leave and felt like I had wasted my money.
The second experience was more pleasant and certainly not the fault of the therapist. Oil and beach, think about it. Having a massage on the beach is not a good idea unless you are planning on having a scrub too, especially when there is a light breeze. I should have known better.
However, I did get some insight into Vietnamese culture during my massage. The ladies will drape themselves from head to toe and sweat under layers of clothes to avoid the sun. My therapist was baffled at our desire to get a tan. To Vietnamese ladies, a lighter complexion is considered more feminine and delicate.
Sri Lanka (2017)
In Sri Lanka I had my first taste of Ayurvedic massage. Upon the recommendation of our Airbnb hosts, I decided to give it a go and headed down the beach to the local yoga retreat and Ayurvedic medical centre.
The atmosphere was very serene with a beautiful lookout over a lake. Yes, I was definitely going to have a good experience here. I asked for a full body massage, paid and then to my dismay was lead to a shack made of what I would think is either palm or banana leaves. No floors, just beach sand which immediately brought back thoughts of a scrub instead of a massage.
The therapy room was dark, but not like the atmospheric kind of dark and hot. The smell of the oils used in Ayurvedic are intoxicating and so I began to forget my misgivings until I felt stings on my legs. I was being eaten alive by mosquitoes and now I was fully itchy. How do you relax when you know that those little creatures are feasting on your blood?
To end off, I had no idea that a full body massage meant FULL body back and front. Feeling a bit violated and scratching welts on my legs, I swore I’d only get massages in cold countries like Peru from now on.
Any thoughts or opinions? Please leave a comment.